In Which I Have Decided What Things Can Do

...mostly suck burlap sacks of cocks.

I have applied everywhere because nobody loves the smell of desperation more than potential employers.

I applied to the Apple store this morning. I have NOWHERE to go but up. Steve jobs for everyone!

Where are all the entry-level publishing industry jobs? Fuck you and the horse with 8-10 years of experience you want to ride in on.

I feel a book inside of me (not literally, that's gross), but the only problem is I like eating food regularly. And not smelling like a hobo. I want to write, but how is that going to happen when I will need to live while writing said book? Rents will need to be paid, ditto bills, food will need to be purchased and consumed, not to mention I will need to get the fuck out of the place I pay to stay...

I have also applied to Northwestern University for employment, and I am currently in the process of applying to DePaul. Only time will tell.

I better be good enough for someone with money to pay me. Oh, this Independence Daze.

I must slow down on some things before I kill myself.

Its okay for the first to be the last. Its only forever. Wedding shows are the devil, and don't you ever forget it.

Hopefully I can get to Jonesville and straighten some things out this weekend. I've been thinking...okay thinking sounds bad...but wondering about some things.

But damn, I look good today.

In Which I Probaly Watch Way Too Much Television For My Own Good

I kind of dug myself out of my shame spiral. I haven't cried once this week and even got off my ass and applied for a few jobs (somewhere between 5-8, which is quite a few, but the Americorps website makes it easy). So needless to say things are looking up. I'm keeping my expectations low, but my spirits high, and that's all anyone can ask for at this point.

I unexpectedly got to see Matt a lot last weekend. I wasn't planning on coming home, but my mom sensed I was low and I think she wanted to be nice to me. So I let her. But let's briefly talk about how my lady balls are huge.

Friday (the ballad of lady balls):
Get to the train station, only to discover that the train was 30-40 minutes late. Story of my life, no big thang. I decide to use this time to people watch and/or stare into oblivion. I notice this pretty girl sitting accross from me reading some sort of academic text. She's dusky-skinned, looks to be in her early twenties (22 at the most)and some sort of Asian. I have my headphones on just listening to my jams, anxiously minding my own. A man appraches her and speaks to her. He's tall, rocking the businessdude on vacation look, green button down long sleeve shirt and kakhi pants. He looks vaguely tanned as well. I can't hear what is said, only that he seems very friendly and innocuous enough. He's all up in her grill, and she's got the typical "um, whatever, okay, yeah" posture. I think my imagination got carried away, because I somehow established the pretense that they knew each other. I think nothing of it, and it's completely out of my mind when I board the train over an hour past our scheduled departure time.

The trip is fine. I read, I sleep, I read, I sleep, I stare into a different version of oblivion. But then we hit the Albion/Ann Arbor area. Some obnoxious fucktwat is having loud conversations on their phone, speaker setting engaged. The whole car can hear what he's saying. This is not pretty stuff. Some gems:

"Baby. Baby. Baby. Baby. Baby. Baby."

"I'm tryin' to spit game at these young girls, but they're not having it."

"Do you wanna fuck him, fuck me, or fuck us both? You wanna fuck us both?"

"When you pick me up, can we fuck in the cab?"

"I'm gonna go Dolomite on you!"

Shit like that. And that's just the stuff I can remember. Did I mention that this is a caucasian individual?

This is a caucasian individual.

So of course, its all I can do not to roll down the aisle in fits of laughter. At one point I look around and see if anyone else is as throughly amused as I am. I make eye contact with a girl that got on when I did, and we sit next to each other and just kind of go WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ONNNNNN? Apparently he was trying to hit on this girl, as well as the pretty Asian girl I saw at the station. Wait, so they don't know each other? Surpriiiiiiise! Apparently he has been awake for three days and stinks of liquor. Everything kind of returns to normal, but then he just starts yelling "WHERE ARE WE?" Someone answers him. Two seconds later, he yells the same question again. Obviously nobody wants to answer him, but finnaly he gets an answer: "Michigan". He laughs and proceeds to ask the question yet a third time, while yelling into his phone. At this point its not cute anymore (not that it ever really was). He's saying horrible things that make my inner raging Amazon feminist sharpen her tomahawk. At this point he's blocking the aisle, one arm or hand on each side of the hand grips. Keep all of this in mind.

An older man is trying to get past Drunky McSkeezeface. I guess he got a little too close, or Drunky touched him aggressively, but the older man tells the Assclown not to put his hands on him like that. So then this very, very, very, very quicky devolves into a shoving match. It looks like its about to get ugly fast. Someone alerts the conductors, while me and three beefy(ish) dudes try and break it up. Yes, your humble narrator got all up in a physical altercation. I am pulling at the old man and it took three other dudes to get them separated. The conductors do the kindergaten thing and put them at opposite ends of the car. This is not working. Fuckface von Assmonkey has now started yelling racial slurs at the older man. Mostly "sand nigger". So they have to put them in separate cars, all the while Drunky's yelling "he's the enemy! USA! USA! USA! Sand nigger" etc. He is told to sit down and be quiet. He does both, but only for seconds at a time. I finally tell him "dude, you're only making this harder for yourself." Again, this lasts all of several seconds before him and the conductor start yelling. He's still using slurs and the black lady conductor is not having that shit. So then his next argument is "What's Amtrak going to do, arrest me? Go ahead! Arrest me! Arrest me! Arrest me! Arest me!"

So they direct the passengers in the car to move to the next car over. His ass is getting arrested. I was told we were somewhere near Wayne. Fifteen minutes from my stop, we STOP THE DAMN TRAIN TO ARREST THIS FOOL. Not just escort him away, but some take witness statements and handcuffs arresting is going down.

I finally get into town, have dinner with Matt and his parents and nearly get caught in a tornado. Limbs everywhere, streetlights and stoplights blackened.

Further proof that wherever I go, disaster follows.

Saturday:
Grad party, Tory Story 3. I nearly cried at the latter. Fuck you too, Pixar.

Sunday:
returned with the Matts. Mad construction.

I guess that wasn't such a brief discussion of my cajones.

Aaaaaaand I still don't know what I'm doing this weekend. I think I'm going to pick Matt. Jill basically gave me her blessing, and when people do things that enable me to do what I want, I don't fight them.

I'll still send a congrats card.

Why is my bra still on?

Speaking of bras, my new guilty pleasure is The Real L Word. Please don't judge.

In Which My Glowing Red Eyes Strike Pity and Fear Into The Hearts of My Fellow Man.

Crying jag, day three. A brief overview, in case you missed it:

Got denied both the internship and the fellowship. Spiraled into a vortex of self-pity, shame, depression, and overall self-loathing. I have the pizza boxes and bottle of wine to prove it. I have feelings of impotence, angst, fear, inferiority, uselessness, and overall failure. I'm trying to make my way out of this vortex, but the pressure is too much.

Moral of the story, don't follow your dreams and always keep Visene in your purse. The whites of my eyes are whiteboard marker red. I have no way to explain this to anyone I encounter today. Maybe I can get away with contact irritation with a side of severe allergies.

Places I've cried in the last seven days:
- Brann's Steakhouse (in front of my friends)
- My Bedroom
- The Living Room
- The open pavilionish area at work (lots of stares)
- The Bathroom at work (where my boss walked in on me sniffling and trying not to hyperventilate)

Shit, there are too many witnesses.

Goddamn, I fucking hate crying. This shit's for pussies. And babies (a baby is a pussy that doesn't know it's a pussy). I'm just glad that I didn't wear any makeup to work today.

I tried to move on today though. I applied for two jobs and emailed the fellowship coordinator for pointers on how to be a stronger candidate. Nothing will come of the jobs, they're a touch out of my skill set, but I'm trying. That's gotta count for something.

I am not a pretty crier.

But on the upside, I think I'll be celebrating my birthday here

No more pussyfooting around. I thing a true and proper drastic hair change would do me a world of good. Either blonde bangs or a long pixie cut (a la one Miss Rihanna).

Either that or a tattoo.

Well Fuck.

"Thank you so much for applying for the 2010 Pritzker Fellowships. The quality of applicants was amazing and we are honored that you were among them.

I regret to inform you that you were not chosen as a finalist. The caliber of your application made this a very difficult decision.

We hope that you continue to pursue your dream of becoming a journalist and that you find great success in whatever it is that you do. We thank you for your interest in the Pritzker Fellowship Program."

FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK.

In Which I Resume The Inbox/Telephone Staredown

I was supposed to know what was going on re: the ten months last week. I'm entering this week knowing exactly what I did last week. Well, I know a little more than I did last week. Now I know that I'm going to know when I'm going to know today. (That makes perfect sense, trust me.) I emailed the coordinator and she explained that there were some sceduling conflicts that were hindering everything from operating exactly on time. She said she's going to email everyone with more information today. The longer this drags out, the more anxious I get. I just want to know so I can make plans accordingly. If I don't get this, of course I'll be brutally devastated (to put it very mildly), but I'll get over it eventually. I wonder how big the candidate pool is. I just have to remember, everything is 50/50. It's going to happen, or it's not going to happen, there are no "chances".

Refresh, rinse, repeat.

I'm slightly socially retarded. I told Matt that I'd come visit him the weekend of the 25, but that's the weekend of Jill's graduation. Oops. I don't think I'd be invited to the ceremony, but I'm sure that I'd probably be invited to the family lunch after (like when I was graduating). I'm not sure what the proper thing to do is. Also lingering is the fact that I got invited to a birthday party that friday. The guest of honor is one of my oldest friends (over a decade). I'm not that worried about that, though. If I don't go to Chicago, I'd run home for this party friday and run back here saturday morning, hangover and all. What the hell is the socially acceptable thing to do? The logical solution would be to just see Matt the weekend before or after. The weekend before would be no good, that's father's day and of course he'll be with his family and shit. I'm selfish, I want to have as much "us time" as possible. I'll also be reminded of how I did not get pregnant in the last 28 days. Two strikes right there. The weekend after would be doable I guess, but in addition to being selfish, I am also immature. I want what I want when I want it. I could wait, but it will have been a full month since I've seen him. Damn, damn, damn.

No matter what, something will be decided for me.

I'm also offended that I've become one of those people with a planner. I like having one, which offends me even more.

The more I think about it, the more enamored I become with the notion of a pink ssapphire engagement ring. Not that I think about these things. Shh, don't tell.

I'm pretty sure my life is filmed in front of a live studio audience. That's no laugh track, that's everyone around me being amused.

I'm not sure I have a problem with this.

In Which I Get More Crying Done By 10 A.M. Than Most People Do All Day.

All hail the crying (weeping?) hangover. I was fine, getting my post-booze coma on and drooling into my pillow. My mom calls and removes me from said post-booze coma. Generally calls always lead to weeping, fighting or some sort of tense judgement, why should today be any different?

Don't worry, it didn't dissappoint.

Only my mother can tell me not to get my hopes up and then accuse me of being negative all in the same sentence/breath. (*cue "You Can't Win" from The Wiz*) Never mind that I am still without smokes (that part's kind of my fault, every time I've been presented with the oppertunity to replace them, I just haven't really been in the mood), I thought I was having an allergic reaction to something, but I think it might be stress hives, aaaaaaaaaaand I just got to sleep less than six hours ago.

It didn't help that after being one margarita in the bag yesterday with the girls I started crying in the middle of Brann's. Fucking embarassing shit. I hate crying. I hate public crying. That's not what I do. I get misty at the movies, but that's about it. The movies don't count though. It's dark and nobody's looking at me, unless I happen to sniffle a little too loudly or laugh at an "inappropriate" moment.

I'm pretty sure this is why I never get invited places. This is why we can't have nice things.

Same shit different day (suicide threats notwithstanding).

I might need a bagel.

Hot mess, party of one, your table is ready.

In Which I Am Hilarious.

(SCENE: INT. NIGHT. I sit on my bed in my room, watching Aqua Teen Hunger Force. Jill is sitting in her room, presumably on her bed, because I can't see her.)

Jill: The inside of my nose itches.
Me: Scratch it!
Jill: I can't! It's going to look like I'm picking my nose!
Me: Who's watching you, Google?

life is good.

In Which I Might Be Allergic To Falafel or Cheap Liquor

First of all, can I just say for the record how tight the record A Healthy Distrust by Sage Francis is? I forgot how much love I can have for a hip-hop record.

Up next on deck: Bad Religion's The Process Of Belief.

An update of Fellowship Watch 2010:

I've been presented with even more hope and an alternate timeline. Good news: it means a little more time for them to see how awesome I am. Bad news: I might not know until the 21st. I'll take it though. It's better than incessantly refreshing my inbox and waiting by my phone like a teenager.

Maybe its the stress, but I've got some really cute hives on my face. Here's to hoping that I just drank too much cranberry juice or ate too much falafel (which I have never tried before). They don't hurt or itch, they just look like Heller Keller could read that portion of my face if she got bored.

I should read and write more instead of staring into the electronic abyss.

Summer reading list:

Pride and Prejudice and Zombies - Jane Austen and Seth Grahame-Smith
Slaughterhouse-Five - Kurt Vonnegut (re-read)
Love is A Mix Tape - Rob Sheffield
The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao - Junot Diaz (also a re-read, but after getting a little perspective about the geography of the Dominican Republic, I think I need to)

To be read, but not in my possession: Scott Pilgrim Vs. The World, mostly because I have until August to read it. August is when the movie comes out.

As I was stalking the film adaptation of Scott Pilgrim, I read that the actor who played Human Torch in the Fantastic Four franchise is going to not only be in Scott Pilgrim vs. The World, but he is going to be Captain Flipping America in the Avengers Franchise, complete with his own movie. I have no idea how to feel. The Avengers has been pushed back (again) to 2012 (this is slowly becoming my Sin City 2 which is the new Chinese Democracy). But I understand Marvel studios has to have time to release all the other ones before they can release The Avengers, blah blah blah blah. I'm just not sure that the Captain America movie will do very well. Maybe its because I am so bored by the character, but it'll be interesting to see a little Hollywood sex appeal on him. It's exhausting being intrigued and bored all at once.

Yesterday was so weird. There were deus ex machina moments coming out of every orifice and I did my best to cope.

But I did bear witness to my conservative friend Keith take a shot out of a strange man's crotch. Oh, twenty-fifth birthdays....

yeah sure, I might do harm, and bear my right to arm.

This year is going to be the coolest.

"The finalists for the 2010 awards will be interviewed at Chicago Public Radio in May and the selected Pritzker Fellows will be announced the week of June 7th."

...does this mean I didn't get it?

I am so confused. The deadline was 5.14...what the shit?

Here's to hoping anyway?

In Which I Consider The Nature of Everything I Love

Blogger has been on the fritz all day, and this is my first opportunity to post. That made me hella anxious. I hear about the fellowship today, and I can safely say that my anxiety has been at average levels (even if I did drop a mostly full pack of cigarettes in a decently busy intersection and compensated with coffee). My inbox refreshing has been somewhere between casual and at worst, frequent. I am filled with optimistic numbness (where I don't know how to feel, but its not necessarily bad). I just don't want this to be a repeat of the TAL event all over again, where I paced my cage for two extra days and got all gross and emo. Nobody loves an emo kid.

I'd like to see Matt this weekend, but word on the street is that my old roommate/friend Jen will be up in Michigan from Mississippi this weekend. Since she's flying, I think its doubtful that she will be stopping here, but Jill says she will drive over to see her (Jen will probably stay on the east side with her family). I haven't seen Jen in about sixish months, and of course I really want to see her. I mean its not like I wouldn't be able to see Matt if we did get to hang out with Jen, but it's more a matter of wanting what I want when I want it, dammit. Three weeks is doable, but one and a half is better.

I listened to Take This To Your Grave by Fall Out Boy in its entirety today. Take from that what you will.

Aww Guster...Makes me want to dig up my copy of Lost And Gone Forever.

Let's hear it for festival season!

Either as a consolation or as a celebration, I will be getting either a new piercing or tattoo.

Mama needs a haircut. I am so close to breaking down and cutting it myself....maybe after another dye job.

Let's get tacos.

In Which I Require Hugs, Good Food, And A Nap.

"Please accept our apologies that this notice is going out a day late. A convergence of deadlines and a partial office brownout yesterday has us a bit behind.

We’re writing to thank you for applying to the This American Life internship, and to inform you that we’ve selected another candidate.
Please know that we were quite impressed with the candidate pool—we received hundreds of applications—and with everyone’s interest and enthusiasm. We very much enjoyed reading pitches, personal stories, and more.

Please keep in mind that there are other ways to contribute to This American Life, and for those of you itching to tell a particular story, please check out our submissions page here:



We’ve recently revamped that whole section, and worked very hard to offer guidance and examples of effective pitches, so don’t hesitate to spend some time looking it over, and if you feel certain you have something, send us a pitch!

Thanks again for your interest and for listening to the show.

All best,
The staff of This American Life"

...well fuck. Now everything's riding on this fellowship and that's a fucking terrifying feeling.

I'm also noticing that I'm using the phrase "fucking terrifying" a lot. Apparently I'm a big fat fucking fraidy cat.

Part of me is tempted to sneak off and do a couple shots while I'm here at work.

My iPod shuffle is trying to cheer me up and I'm not sure if that makes me feel better or if it makes me feel worse somehow.

If I still had a car, I'd drive around at unsafe speeds listening to unsafe music at unsafe volumes.

I feel like a partial failure right now but I know if I get denied this fellowship, I will feel like a fat, full blown failure.

Tonight will be a night of self pity and indulgence.

In Which My Anxiety Goes Into Overtime

"We have received your application for our fall internship. All applicants will be notified of our decision by June 1.

Thank you-

This American Life"

This is what the automatic email said that was sent on April 30, according to my email inbox.

Has June 1 not come and gone? Is it not the day after the first? I am also trying to respect their request that I follow the directions of:

"PLEASE DO NOT CONTACT THE TAL WEBSITE OR OUR OFFICES CONCERNING YOUR APPLICATION. We will automatically notify you of receipt and follow-up calls will be made to finalists in a timely fashion. All applicants will be notified of our decision by the dates listed above."

All appicants. All. Applicants. To me that means even the delusional semi alcoholic bitchfaces that tried really really hard on their application get a phone call or an email or something thanking them for their time and shit (apologies, I'm a touch hungover from the forgetting binge that I tried to make happen).

I've heard nothing and I keep feeling this strange mixture of hope and disappointment. Am I in? Am I not in? Are they notifying us by snail mail secretly? (extremely unlikely, but in in the face of no evidence to te contrary, all I have are possibilities.) Or will they just come for me in the night and take me with no warning? (I cannot begin to tell you how okay I would be with that latter option.)

I hate knowing hope is all I have. I hate being on someone else's timetable, at someonne else's mercy...but we already discussed this.

This even affects my music choices. I don't know whether to be Kanye cocky or Bright Eyes brooding. This is an epic amount of suck.

So as I wait, it's smoke, refresh, repeat.

This is worse than a late period. I only wish I could pee on a stick and a little piece of plastic would tell me if I suck at life or not.

Maybe some Doritos and Frasier would calm my nerves.

In Which I Need to Have One Cigarette and Hush

Today is D-Day part one, and of course I am having trouble breathing. I think its also the humidity. Today may not be the day to replenish my nicotine stash. Stay positive, stay positive, stay positive. I keep flirting with the notion of just showing up to work this afternoon buzzed and just maintaining until I know for sure. Ether that or make everyone watch as I get blitzed at roadhouse.

So Matt's been gone for less than a day, and I miss him already.This weekend was nice becauase of the extra time we got to spend together and we got to experience a bit of Kalamazoo for once. I can't wait until we can be in the same city/state/time zone (it doesn't take much to please me). However, that notion will prove to be interesting, mostly because that will be so new to me. I've: 1. never felt this way about anyone, ever, 2. always used the physical distance between myself and previous significant others to maintain my independence and also mantian a "safe distance", (even though I think I can overcome this by finding other ways to assert my indepencence and remembering that there's no such thing as safe distance, respectively) and 3. am excited and scared shitless.

...aaaand refresh the inbox.

I think I need a new futon matress. One that's less prone to lumps.

Or maybe I can just say fuck it and get a big kid bed.

What's the proper attire for a summertime interview?

And damn it all to heck if I still don't want a grilled hot dog.

Refresh.

Whoever's out there listening to me continuously vomit on mysself verbally, please send unparalelled vibes/thoughts/prayers of awesomeness.

Refresh.

Shower, smoke, bagel, work, drink, Glee, drink.

I'll quit drinking for a couple weeks starting next week. I will know everything by then and I will either have to celebrate or aim to forget.

Refresh.

In Which I Get Nervous and Nostalgic All At Once

So these deadlines are zooming upon me much faster than I am comfortable with. In a week and then a week after that, I will find out if these people see potential in me. This is utterly terrifying. I try to avoid wanting things too badly, because it tends to end in disappointment. But oh my god, I want this. I. Want. This. As a result, the closer the deadline gets, the more nervous I get. Sleep is almost a joke (although to be honest,I've never been good at sleeping longer than 5-7 hours), as of late, food has been cool, but not the obsession that it usually is (even though that might be the tobacco remnants from monday still kicking around in my system).

I'm worried that virtually every single bad thing I do is going to count against me karmically.

That reminds me, I should call my mom.

Let's hear it for this heat wave! I think that maybe Austin's not ready for me yet. But perhaps the cool factor woruld balance the hot factor and I'd be okay after all.

Sometimes I wish I wasn't an only child.

Sometimes I wish I was a mind reader.

This makes me smile though:

In Which I Learn My Lesson (Disclaimer)

Which is to say, the master creeper has been creeped. It's a weird feeling, because I'm not sure of the logistics of how I got creeped in the first place, even though it is entirely possible to do so. I guess I shouldn't say things if I can't handle the fallout. Welcome to the internet.

But that being said, I am not going to apologize for how I felt a particular moment in time, nor am I going to apologize for how I currently feel. I can't help those things, and that's why they're feelings and not rational reactionings. I think I'm allowed to "blow things out of proportion" out here because that's how it is in my head. That's where I spend a lot (bordering on too much) time. I have a thought, it either amuses or bothers me, I vomit it out, and move on. Its either that or She-Hulk out on everything and everyone around me and that can't be healthy.

Anyone who legitimately knows me knows I have a mouth on me, and I can shoot it off quite proficiently.

This is the death of auto-tune, moment of silence.

Last night, Kenny was back to do a comedy show. Of course I went. The comedians were pretty funny, but I mean get a few adult beverages in me, and of course everyone's a fucking riot. It wasn't as validating as the last one, but it was still a good time. Even Mini showed up, which was cool because I don't get to see her that often. After the show, Mini and I called her friend Cody for snacks. But before the snacks came the hookah. Far too much hookah. The last time I had hookah was around the time that dares not speak its name four years ago. I came home feeling like hell at 3:30 and passed out shortly thereafter. It was worth it. I feel fine now, but it was touch and go for awhile. I gotta learn to pace myself. On the upside, I came out of it with a fantastic potential dancing buddy. One that will go to the gay bar with me no less! Lord knows I love dancing. Lord knows I love a gay bar.

Today might be a day for swimming. But that means shaving. We'll see.

I should stay in and clean, but this weather is making me forget how to act.

In Which I Regret That Time Travel is Not Yet Possible

More insecurity vomit. Adjust yourself accordingly.

New blog post with 25% MORE NEUROSIS!

This thing is like my therapist. I like talking about my problems, just not out loud. Verbalizing them just makes me feel weak. Is there such a thing as an e-therapist? I think that unloading my problems on a select few, or on a world that just silently listens is something comforting and appealing. I can be as weak as I need to be for a few minutes and then I can go back to my ballsy-take-no-prisoners persona. But anyway, back to the show!

I trust Matt. I really do. I can trust him all I want until the cows come home, but that's not going to change the behavior of other people and I don't like having hope as my only option.

That's the essence of trust, I guess. And I'm finding I don't like trusting other people when it comes to the big major stuff.

The Problem
This time the trigger was a simple photo. His friend (yeah that one that has been the bane of my existence and the root of all my insecurity for the past few/several months) changed her profile photo on facebook to one of her and Matt. And her last few statuses have been really flirty and cryptic. (Oh, the joys of having an indoor cat job and not having anything better to do other than hitting refresh on facebook.) And I know better than to read into it as much as I am, but I can't help it. Lord only knows why. I'm soothing myself with the fact that this girl changes her profile picture several times a week, and soon I'll be seeing another picture of her stupid, gorgeous mug all over my stalkerfeed. I looked at the album, there were 81 pictures. EIGHTY FRIGGING ONE. Not all of them were of her and not all of them were of Matt. I realize that they're really good friends but WHAT THE FRIGGING HELL. (please pardon my tone, the yelling may continue.) DID SHE HAVE TO CHOOSE ONE OF HER AND MY BOYFRIEND? I know it's stupid and petty and one of the hazards of dating in the modern age, but I still want to punch a baby or kick a puppy. And then smoke a cigarette.

What Fucking Solution?
The logical conclusion one who is not me may draw is to talk to him (or her) about it. The logical retort I deliver is and say/do what? What's the next step? None are apparent. And besides, I would just look crazy and insecure and possessive, and while I do not deny my possession of all of those traits (often at once), I like to keep the visible evidence of that to an absolute minimum. But we all knew this. There is no solution, or even compromise to be reached. I thought I could just suck it up until August, when she was supposed to be leaving for LA, but alas, she won't be leaving until December. I think it won't be long until my crazy reaches critical mass. But raise your hand if you are loving bearing witness to my descent into madness!

My solution is this girl needs a boyfriend. Done and done.

Or is this whole ordeal some sort of test? What am I supposed to be learning? Is the true solution that my blood sugar's probably low and I should just eat something?

I'm going to read and forget that this ever happened. I do need to read more and spend less time on that sanity trap Facebook.

God Bless you, world. God bless you, Folk Implosion.

In Which Everything and Everyone Pisses Me Off, Including Myself

Yesterday was bad, mentally. The weather was gorgeous, which I greatly appreciate in Michigan, but oh my GAWD (yes the broad New England accent was necessary), I thought I was going to end up on the 11 o'clock news for a homicide spree. I think its my period, but I am pretty sure I would have been cranky even if my chemicals were ricocheting (when did I become such a horrible speller? this does not look like the correct spelling, but apparently it is). Coworkers, roommates, people at the bus depot (I thought I was going to have to clock this dude because I thought he looked at me funny, but in my defense, it is the bus depot.) Jill and Keith and I went out for dinner and drinks on the mall, but Jill was being difficult, and nothing looked good on me. I felt fat and like buying into the notion that I was less than because of my weight or my race or whatever.

But other than that, the food was fantastic (went to Kalammazoo's other tapas restaurant...who knew?), the drinks were expensive but tasty (a $7 mojito?!?), and the weather was chilly but pleasant.

I think some of my parade rain came from the fact that whenever I go out with Jill and a boy, or multiple boys, I inevitably get ignored in favor of her. Trite, petty, selfish...myriad other unpleasant and immature adjectives come to mind to describe the notion that I articulated, but it is the truth. And I know that it should only matter that a few people love me, but I can't help that I want to be everyone's favorite person all the fucking time. And apparently this is the way I really feel (as opposed to kind of feel) because I literally am choking back tears.

Fuck you too, hormones.

One day my blues will be a bitchen shade of teal.

This is not helping my positivity. But you know what did? I talked to Matt this morning, and we were looking at this calendar of free events at Millennium Park in Chicago. I said something about scheming to get off work, and then he said something along the lines of for most of these you'll already be here. Apparently, positivity can be contagious.

I think part of my birthday present from somebody is seeing Vampire Weekend in Chicago on the Sunday before my birthday. I am determined to have my birthday be a big deal this year. I'll be twenty-five, and goddammit, someone besides me should be glad I'm alive.

Apparently all I needed was to vomit verbally a little bit.

I do feel better. I am going to create my own feel good hit of the summer.

So The Kenyon Review Rejected Me, But I Am More Than Okay With That

I just have to remember that "adventure is just one mistake away". (A Softer World no. 334)

In Which I Am Thinking Positively

So its all sent. And now its all a matter of waiting. I bought a pack of smokes, and they are going pretty quickly. I have 17 and 23 days before I know anything, but I bought a pair of shoes and a pencil skirt for an interview, I started looking for an apartment and a boyfriend blazer, and at least the apartments look optimistic.

It looks like I can pick up a couple extra hours at work for the next few weeks. This is very very good.

I know I've said it before, but I keep thinking it: I think I like worrying. If I'm not worrying about my body, I am worrying about my future, if I'm not worrying about my future, I'm worrying about my finances, if I'm not worrying about any of those things, I am worrying about my relationship, if I'm not worrying about that I'm worrying that I don't have anything to worry about. Somebody give me a paper bag.

Aside from the ship business, right now I'm kind of back in this whole "is he losing interest" bullshit. I take the slightest pause, every unreturned text as a sign that Matt's having second thoughts. I have no idea where this comes from. Maybe its PMS, maybe its the crazy amplified by the hormones, maybe its because my mom's right and I am "depressed" and looking for yet another reason to hate myself.

As if I needed to look.

Holy emo.

I'm going to pretend that those words were never typed, but not really because if I really wanted to do that, I could just backspace the shit out of it.

I just had a moment where that was the opposite of staying positive. Fuck that shit.

This is not going to be a cruel summer.

In Which I Might Start Smoking and Eating Old Pills Again

This weekend was awkward. Among the events that occured:

- cock blocked by a law enforcement officer
- while avoiding a lecture on sex, got a lecture on aesthetics and piercings and tattoos

All aboard the trippin train. I was supposed to secure my nomination materials for this fellowship yesterday. It is now tuesday, and I have not heard anything from these people...er...person. The deadline to have everything submitted is by 5pm on friday. Three days from now. I'm getting really anxious because if I don't secure all the things I need to apply, everything will be riding on my This American Life application, which I am the opposite of comfortable with. Let's stop thinking about it becase the more I think about it, the more I want to cry.

Also, if one's long distance, long term significant other were to inquire as to the next rendezvous, and one repied with a potential time frame, and then one's SO replied to the reply there will already be six people staying at the apartment, what would that imply?

I guess somebody's not getting laid until june. Its just as well, the finances would be a lot of work anyway.

Gossip Girl is like crack and I am so late to that party and I am so mad, because I love it. My politics hate it, but my TV watcher loves it.

xoxo

In Which I Am Bruised and Happy

I made a semi-impromptu trip to Chicago this weekend, just to blow off some stress. And the fact that Boyfriend is there never hurts either. I haven't felt that liberated in a long time.

Friday was low-key after I got in 30-40ish minutes later than expected. We had snacks, TV, cocktails, and sex (sorry, that just worked too well). More or less in that order. Saturday was nice, so we went to free comic book day, walked around and went to the movies. Kick-Ass was really entertaining and I have not been that entertained by a child actor in a long time. I am totally going to be Hit Girl for Halloween. The bottles of Sutter Home stashed in my purse weren't hurting things either. We came back, I took a wine nap while Matt watched TV, and I woke up and watched more TV. And then...wow.

Two hours later its close to 5 am, and we decide we were going to try to watch the sun rise through the rain on the lake. We made it a few blocks, said fuck this, and grabbed breakfast instead. Soaking wet, we took the long way home (yes, I'm alluding to exactly what you're thinking I'm alluding to).

The rest of Sunday, we slept it off until it was time for me to get ready to go.

I finished my This American Life internship application. For better or for worse, its sent, and now all I can do is cross my fingers and hope for the best around and on June first. My fellowship application isn't due for a bit, so now I'm taking it easy before I hop on the trippin train again.

For the first time in a really long time, I'm excited about the future on several fronts. I'm excited for the impending exhaustion of working 2 jobs four days a week, the challenge of working with whichever 'ship I land and by extension, living in the same city/state/time zone as my boyfriend, and my future with someone who loves me. Bring it on, world!

That's all, mini-vacation until the 17th. I'll probably be in touch anyway.

In Which A More Glorious Dawn Awaits

Not a sunrise, but a galaxy rise. A morning filled with 400 billion suns.

"If you wish to make an apple pie from scratch, you must first invent the universe." - Carl Sagan

I need more science books. I already need to read A Brief History of time, and something by this Carl Sagan character. Who knew science could be so poetic?

I also can't get enough of Adam Lambert. He'll be at the Royal Oak Music Theater June 18, but ticket prices remain unknown. We are both here for your entertainment.

The application for This American Life is mostly complete, I'm now entering my neurotic editing phase. I'd like to have this good to go by Friday, and it looks like I will, but I'm so nervous. And then I can take a breath and then move on to this fucking Pritzker fellowship application. Awwwwwwww freak out!

And it doesn't help that I want to do a linear storyline analysis of Lady Gaga videos. For serious. I'm seeing too many connections to keep these thoughts to myself and the only way to get them away from me is to release them on the written screen/page.

And there's her whole obsession with plastic ("Beautiful Dirty Rich"/ "Paparazzi")

OH GOD ITS STARTING ALREADY.

Just edit, edit, edit, and just....dance...er....finish these bitches off.

In Which I Get Bitten by The Productivity Bug (and actually focus on something worthy of my anxiety)

Operation: Escape has taken its first wobbly steps toward fruition.

I am applying for a fellowship and an internship, both of which are through Chicago Public Radio and are paid and begin in July. I am so excited because I haven't wanted something like this in a long, long time. The challenge is something I am welcoming because I can't remember the last time I was properly challenged. The possibility of not landing either of these things would be far more devastating than I would ever care to think about. So we're staying positive, and only bringing in good energy. I will even start putting deposits toward my my karmic debt. Whatever it takes...(I am struggling not to burst into the theme from Degrassi: The Next Generation). The prospect of the fellowship or the internship leading up to a job with benefits is almost too much to take.

So I am writing applications and trying to let my best aspects shine through.

But I don't think "Killer Rack" is not something appropriate for a resume. I don't even know where that would go. Applicable Skills perhaps?

These things will keep me busy and I'll try not to think about the same type of things that keep me up at night(love you too, fluctuating hormone levels).

I like the way I look when I'm crazy. I cut back on booze and salt and other things that any sane person with taste buds enjoys. I try to walk 5ish miles a week, and I can tell the difference in the way my jeans fit. Its a great feeling. This week is my naughty week because I won't see Matt for awhile and I'm having my period. I'm allowed to be naughty, I just can't slip back and make it a perpetual naughty habit.

All along the western front...

And if my new life plan doesn't work, I'm opening up a restaurant in Santa Fe.

In Which I Crave Clove Cigarettes and Sushi

Well, here we are. The home stretch. Four more days until I get to see Matt again, and 2.5ish weeks until I have to turn in my application to This American Life that will ultimately decide what the french toast is going to happen to me.

The absolute terror of what is going to happen to me this summer has got my emotional state in the firmest of vice grips.

I want to move. I need to move. There is no way I can just stay in Michigan. I am firmly convinced that its killing me.

I am absolutely discouraged as far as jobs go. I feel like there's nothing I can do to be more qualified. I'm hoping with this internship, i can get the letters of recommendation I will so sorely need for grad school, because if I am going to get in, lord knows its not going to be because of my stellar gpa. I wouldn't mind a second bachelor's but I hear its not really worth it, and that I may as well just try for the master's. But as of late, my rationale has been this: if I go and get the second bachelor's, I can hopefully get a more impressive grade point average, make people love me so much they will be raping one another for the opportunity to write letters for me.

Total hyperbole, but you get the idea.

Moral of the story: not good enough for what I want, too good for what I can do. I refuse to cook or serve food (drinks are okay), mop floors, wipe asses (literally), or let strange people see me without my clothes on (unless I am a burlesque dancer or an artist's model). All I am equipped with is a bachelor's degree, a smart mouth, a head full of metal, an somewhat killer wardrobe and a righteous sense of self-entitlement. Besides, I have a better working vocabulary than most of the working American public anyway.

Maybe I just have to go balls out and not care anymore. If I make it to the interview, I might say fuck. All my most profane facebook statuses and most offensively raucous photographs will be prevalent.

I'm done with that rant for now, I swear.

This is all springing forth because of one lone strand of gray hair I found springing from my scalp this morning. I shall call her Lola, and now that she's here, I'm not sure if I want her to invite some friends over or not.

I'm here for your entertainment.

In Which I Aspire to Be Beutiful, Dirty, and Rich.

Last night, I fell off the wagon. Kenny was in town and I wanted to have a good time, so I drank and smoked and drank like my liver was still a virgin. I got sauced and sassy and made new friends that I can't remember, and said hello to the ones I did. I was sauced and sassy and I didn't care who knew it. (Drink count was somewhere between 5-7, alternating between vodka and whiskey.)

As you are well aware, dear world, my self esteem as of late has been plummeting in a downward spiral. As far as that goes, last night was just what the doctor ordered. I was funny and helpful and I looked down, and I had the body of a striptease falcon. In a room full of comedians, I was making them laugh (boost #1). There were dudes everywhere (my element), and I flirted because I was a terrible girlfriend and was miffed that Matt had seemed distant for the last few days (damn text messages that have no inflection). I have a problem with seeking validation in the form of attention. I flirted with everyone in that room and everyone flirted back: the guy working the door, random friends of friends, friends in general...hugs and laughs were abundant (overall boost #2). Later in the evening, on the drive home, my friend Stephanie tells me that one of our mutualish friends thought I was hot. I've only seen him when our social circles overlap, so its like whatever, but still. It gives me a rush like BAM! I still got it. Its immature and slightly unhealthy, I know, but sometimes its just what I need.

Like my McDonald's hangover breakfast.

No matter what, I'll be fine.

In Which I Feel Like Going on The Master Cleanse Would Not Be The Worst Idea Ever

Gross. Gross, gross, gross. That is how I feel after a weekend of absolutely horrible food. Delicious, yes. Skinny-making, no. So I think I might start this master cleanse business on Wednesday. From Wednesday to next Tuesday, I will be on a strictly liquid diet. These efforts are mostly due to my feeling absolutely disgustingly fat. I also have the notion that Matt won't love me unless I'm thin(ish). This is probably a completely batshit loco notion in and of itself, but I think that if I'm not perfect, he's going to leave. I can't do anything to stop him from going, I can only make him want to stay.

I just have to remember that I am the one that he's going to come home to. I'm the one he wants. Not these other flirtatious tarty women. There will always be women flirting with him, and I think the sooner I can deal with this, the happier I'll be.

And yes, I realize that you (yes, you, there in the fourth row) are yelling that I am a hypocrite just because I have had the habit of slight occasional flirtation. However, I don't think that my flirtatious ways have ever been the cause for worry (unless you count Devon, and maybe Mike if I ever get around to seeing him), but honestly, I am a one guy kinda gal.

Also, God keeps punking me. My mom made me talk to my dad this morning, but luckily my ride back to Kalamazoo showed up so I left without saying anything of substance. It was weird and I don't like it. He was really excited to talk to me. I have no idea what to do or what to say. Hey, dad, wtf? Kthxbai.

Life would be so much easier as an lolcat.

Less than two weeks to go before I can see Matt (11 days, but really, who's counting?), and I think I can make it. I have Kenny's comedy show hosted tonight, chicken fingers tomorrow, Richard's arrival this weekend, and chicken fingers next Tuesday.

I'm a driver, I'm a winner. Things are gonna change, I can feel it.

In Which I Get A Little Hyper And Secretly Wish I Could Listen To Butthole Surfers

I had a dream last night. A common occurrence with myself and millions of other people and life forms.

This is what happened in my head:

I am in Grand Rapids for some giant DEMF meets Lolla meets SXSW meets Bonnaroo type of music festival. Sweaty, smelly, hairy people as far as the eye can see. People and blankets and tents everywhere. I'm stumbling through with my friends (nobody specific, just a general sense of camaraderie (apparently that's the correct spelling)). I stop by a merch booth/table/tent to look over the goods. I remember specifically a t-shirt that had some illustration from One Fish, Two Fish, Red Fish, Blue Fish by Dr. Seuss. It was yellow with bright green sleeves. This little kid is there looking at the shirts too. He takes one look at the Dr. Seuss shirt and screams "ITS TOO BRIGHT!" (possibly prefaced with an "I told you", I can't honestly remember) and takes off running. In the first couple steps he takes he morphs into a greyish lop-eared rabbit (I don't witness the transformation). The guys at the table are chasing him in circles around the table/general area. I join in. We manage to corner him. I magically acquire a blanket, which I use to disorient the bunny and pick him up. He starts wiggling and squirming and I eventually get bitten and lose my grip. Bunny boy takes off through the crowd, and I after him. I chase him to the back of the festival area which ends up being a big university. I've lost him, but I go in the university anyway.

Its all a blur after that.

I told twitter that I have dreams where I chase rabbits, but they're not white and they don't lead to underland/wonderland.

File Under F, for Fucking Daddy Issues (let's be honest here though, if I had a file, I think F would be the biggest one. Everything's fucking this and fucking that):

This would best go in list form. I'm officially good and cranked and full of ADD right now.

a. my (half) brother called my mom on sunday. It seems he wants to get a hold of me. No big thang. We speak every few years.
b. I'm an aunt, it would seem. To a little biracial girl, I think. (I am certain on the biracial part, but not so much on the girl part. I secretly find this a little thrilling because chances are very high that I am going to end up with biracial kids myself.)
c. apparently, I also have a father? Apparently he's been trying to get in touch with us. I am not sure why. My interest in speaking with him is purely selfish and scientific. I just want to know genetics: heritage, diseases , etc.

that's all.

Fuuuuck that, I'm flexin.

The weather's gorgeous. and it promises to be nearly eighty tomorrow. I just might shave my legs for that shit.

Started watching Gossip Girl, reading Nerve, Jezebel and Gawker, and incessantly listening to Lady Gaga. Please don't judge. It's not so bad being trendy, everyone who looks like me is my friend. Please don't hate me because I'm trendy.

In Which I Identify With Amy Winehouse A Litlle too Much.

I have been Listening to Frank all Day. There were brief interludes from The Beatles and Ebony Bones but, for the most part I cannot stop listening to Amy's jazzy tones. I really do wish the best for her a voice like that should not go to waste *meaningful glance thrown in Whitney Houston's direction*.

I think I'm in the midst of my first fight. I can't tell. Damn text messages. Damn fluctuating hormones. Its a stupid nothing fight too (if it is one). I just made a wiseass little comment about how he couldn't bother to text me back last night when he finally texted me this morning. (Something about him having NOT fallen down a well.) He asked what I meant. I told him. Two hours ago. No response. So we'll see. I'll probably crack first, but it felt good to let my aggression out, regardless of how passively it happened.

In other news, I have to peeeee and I can't leave the lab right now.

Damn periods (even if I am thankful for the peace of mind they bring).

In Which I Deliver A Partial Manifesto.

Attempting To Reconcile (Vs.)

I'm mostly a good girl. I drink, I smoke, I swear, I fuck. I help when I can. Sometimes there are moods where I can't help who I hurt. Sometimes I just don't care. I believe in God and I like to think that God believes in me. I like to think that God laughs openly and often at the ways people try to reach him. I think that the things people do for God more often than not make him sad. it probably balances out. I think that somewhere between what we want to do and what people say God says is what we should do. I don't believe in sex without love. The end should justify the means. I don't know if I believe in Satan or a devil, but I do believe in evil. I don't believe in being evil, but I do believe that it is unavoidable and at times necessary. I believe in exploration. I believe that God and science can coexist.The existence of one does not negate the other. I believe in peace, but I am all too aware that people can't leave things alone. I believe that medium coffees at Dunkin Donuts are friggin gigantic. I believe in magic. I believe in talent. I believe in trying to find a balance. I believe that failure can be an option. I believe in a thing called love.I believe that God is not offended by it. The key to a satisfying existence is chaotic structure. I believe addiction is a basic, primal force. I believe in reincarnation. I also believe in making the most of the life you can remember. I believe in exercising ability to an extent.

I am a firm believer in juxtaposition and contradiction. It's all about contradiction, i am proof. I believe in proof. I believe that pop music tells the truth more often than people care to admit. I believe in playing hooky. I believe in anaphora and alliteration. I believe in all forms of evolution. I believe in experts, but not necessarily answers. I believe in excitement. I believe in abstract definitions of art. Let the record show htat i also believe in bullshit. I believe that everything's a little bit funny. I believe in benign abuses. The only malicious abuses I do believe in are the abuses of self and I know all too well those can easily be taken too far. I believe we are all crazy. I believe the best way to negate this is to acknowledge it, but not too much, Hamlet. I believe in the power of shutting the fuck up sometimes. I believe in the failure of words, but not as much as I believe in their power. I believe in language. I believe that the only way to understand boundaries is experimental excess. I believe in grabbing 'em in the biscuits. I believe in unfinished stories.

In Which I Possess The Ability to Talk Myself Off of Bridges

More dispatches from the west coast. Sometimes I remind myself of "Alicia Amnesia".

I have gone from crazy to fine back to crazy back to fine. Talking it out helps with little or no outside input.

I feel good.

There's no sense in telling me the wisdom of a fool won't set you free.

I can make this work.

I just had the most questionable lunch of my entire life. Pizza, already a day or two old, placed in a ziplock bag and aged for another three days unrefrigerated. I heated it to high hell, so I think I'll be okay.

Can anybody tell me why I'm so fearful? I'm afraid of myself and the consequences that my actions may or may not bring about, to a degree. I'm not afraid of vice- related consequences. I think the real fear comes in when we bring that pesky l-word into the picture and all that it entails. I think I'm so busy trying to be perfect, that I think I'm putting my own needs, wants, and sanity as the least of priorities. My ultimate nightmare, in addition to being lost and alone in pitch darkness, is being told "you aren't enough. You're not good enough".

Another problem I have is that I can't stay mad. I want to, but all that ends up happening is I get over it. While most people extol (side note, I had no idea this was the proper spelling) this personality trait as a virtue, sometimes I think its important to get angry and to hold on to that anger, at least for a little bit. I think this is partly due to the fact that I see my significant other so rarely, that by the time I get around to seeing him, my anger (or at least whatever negative emotion that I'm producing) has fizzled. And nine times out of ten, its about something that has no foreseeable, logical conclusion.

But staying positive is the only way I can reinforce anything that keeps me happy. Its the only way I can hear that faint whisper of "You are worth it. You are amazing. You deserve whatever happiness you can get. You deserve to be loved."

I have decided that instead of one raven tattoo, I want two, just under each armpit. The inspiration comes after doing some research, mostly on wikipedia:

"In Norse mythology, the Ravens Hugin and Munin sit on the god Odin's shoulders and bring to his ears all the news they see and hear; their names are Thought and Memory. Odin sends them out with each dawn to fly over the world, so he can learn everything that happens."

I like that. I like that a lot. Even though I have no Norse heritage that I know of, the sentiment is just lovely.

These ideas keep me from thinking so much, because yes, I have started thinking again.

"Till I scarcely more than muttered, 'Other friends have flown before —
On the morrow he will leave me, as my hopes have flown before.'
Quoth the raven, 'Nevermore.'"

Yes, I read "The Raven" today. Yes, it bummed me out. Yes I'm still bumming, but I forget why exactly.

Is that a good thing?

I'm getting all kinds of futuristic panic attacks. It falls in line with the quarter life crisis sequel (trilogy? saga?). I think its mostly because I think i secretly like worrying. I like freaking out. I want to bring this all up with Matt, but its not the kind of stuff you can say in text or even a phone call. Unfortunately, my next plans for seeing him won't be until April. I'm hoping he'll come home with his roommate for Easter, and I'll get to see and talk to him then. If he doesn't come back for Easter, the next time I'll probably be able to see him is mid April, like the weekend of the 16. And that's a whole month away. That's a mighty long time.

Loans are starting to not sound like such a horrible suicide. They'd allow me to live happily and comfortably and I wouldn't have to worry outright about moving and finding a job.

I need to start planning grad school visits. That's what summer is for.

My top five:

- Columbia College
- Northwestern
- University of Texas at Austin
- University of Gerogia - Athens
- Bowling Green

Road trip, anyone?

All the things I want to do today:

- catch a cup of coffee
- smoke a cigarette
- catch a drink
- some writing

(if we're really being honest here, in addition to the above)

- get laid
- see my old friends
- chain smoke

Things that might or probably will get done today:

- catch a cup of coffee
- smoke a cigarette
- catch a drink
- some writing
- get laid

Chain smoking bad.

But its settled. At the very least I can grab a cup of coffee (seeing as there's both a Dunkin Donuts and a Starbucks within a half mile of here (Matt's apt)) and come back and do my nails and read and be just kind of domestic.

I was also thinking of cooking one of these nights. I want some fucking spaghetti. With ground turkey. And maybe a bottle of okay-tasting red wine.

What I just said stays between the two of us. Okay, world?

In Which I Wax Nostalgic For The Unremembered Eighties.

I have seven minutes left at work and I am type type typing to pass the time and i can actively hope that I have to not deal with any more stupidity today.

I hope it doesn't rain (on me).

Yes, this is spring break. The temperatures have been spring-like, even if the weather hasn't.

And I get to see Matt tomorrow. I couldn't be more excited. It's been a month. A month!

Life is okay. I need to do a lot in the next 24 hours. Its okay, I have the rest of the week off.

I want a cigarette, but I have not had a right proper fag in quite some time and I have not had a drink in about two weeks.

That's getting obliterated this weekend.

In Which I Return To Where My Words Only Define Me.

This ain't a scene, its an arms race.

I love mornings where I can see the sun. I love "Stillness Is The Move" (the Solange version), mostly because it is a cover of a Dirty Projectors song. I love cover crossovers like that. I love The Mike Simonetti remix of "Million Dollar Bill" by Whitney Houston.

Dear Kanye, your talent negates your egotistical twattery.

I still hear whispers of crazy in my head. I know I have no reason to, and the position my brain is in just screams of codependent girlfriend. But its still there. I just don't want to look like a chump, you know? Yeah, I said chump. I just don't trust this girl. I really don't. And there's nothing I can do. I don't want to tell my twenty-five year old long distance boyfriend who he can and can't hang out with. And even if I did, 1. that's really shitty, it would just lead to resentment and possible lashing/acting out on both our parts and 2. there would be no way to "enforce" said restriction. But She's moving to LA in August, so that about four more months in my nuthouse. Cashew?

He says he's immune to jealousy (not his exact words, but its definitely implied).I take him at his word, which just makes me feel worse.

I have no idea what to do without looking certifiably criminally insane. I'm not sure why it matters how I look. Maybe its the fact that I watch entirely too much TV.

I also think this is the root to my overall dissatisfaction with my appearance. I can never look good enough and I keep comparing myself to everyone else around me (and even those not around me). I am not thin enough, pretty enough, smart enough, funny enough, tall enough... the list goes on. I've been out several times in the last seven days, and each time I get angrier and angrier that I can't look good. So I feel the need to be increasingly more obnoxious and crazy to compensate. Which makes me think that everyone hates me anyway.

This isn't store brand crazy. This is designer crazy.

people don't dance no more.

Don't wanna be your monkey wrench.

I'll pull an OK Go and get over it. Eventually.

I'll take my pills and say its for the best.

A break from the "In Which I"s....

So as part of a work-type thing, we had to take this quiz to "discover our strengths" (mmmmm, taste the synergy....). They pick your top five, and explain what they mean by the words that that chose to describe you. These are my results.

Input

You are inquisitive. You collect things. You might collect information—words, facts, books, and quotations—or you might collect tangible objects such as butterflies, baseball cards, porcelain dolls, or sepia photographs. Whatever you collect, you collect it because it interests you. And yours is the kind of mind that finds so many things interesting. The world is exciting precisely because of its infinite variety and complexity. If you read a great deal, it is not necessarily to refine your theories but, rather, to add more information to your archives. If you like to travel, it is because each new location offers novel artifacts and facts. These can be acquired and then stored away. Why are they worth storing? At the time of storing it is often hard to say exactly when or why you might need them, but who knows when they might become useful? With all those possible uses in mind, you really don’t feel comfortable throwing anything away. So you keep acquiring and compiling and filing stuff away. It’s interesting. It keeps your mind fresh. And perhaps one day some of it will prove valuable.


Strategic

The Strategic theme enables you to sort through the clutter and find the best route. It is not a skill that can be taught. It is a distinct way of thinking, a special perspective on the world at large. This perspective allows you to see patterns where others simply see complexity. Mindful of these patterns, you play out alternative scenarios, always asking, “What if this happened? Okay, well what if this happened?” This recurring question helps you see around the next corner. There you can evaluate accurately the potential obstacles. Guided by where you see each path leading, you start to make selections. You discard the paths that lead nowhere. You discard the paths that lead straight into resistance. You discard the paths that lead into a fog of confusion. You cull and make selections until you arrive at the chosen path—your strategy. Armed with your strategy, you strike forward. This is your Strategic theme at work: “What if?” Select. Strike.


Intellection

You like to think. You like mental activity. You like exercising the “muscles” of your brain, stretching them in multiple directions. This need for mental activity may be focused; for example, you may be trying to solve a problem or develop an idea or understand another person’s feelings. The exact focus will depend on your other strengths. On the other hand, this mental activity may very well lack focus. The theme of Intellection does not dictate what you are thinking about; it simply describes that you like to think. You are the kind of person who enjoys your time alone because it is your time for musing and reflection. You are introspective. In a sense you are your own best companion, as you pose yourself questions and try out answers on yourself to see how they sound. This introspection may lead you to a slight sense of discontent as you compare what you are actually doing with all the thoughts and ideas that your mind conceives. Or this introspection may tend toward more pragmatic matters such as the events of the day or a conversation that you plan to have later. Wherever it leads you, this mental hum is one of the constants of your life.


Empathy

You can sense the emotions of those around you. You can feel what they are feeling as though their feelings are your own. Intuitively, you are able to see the world through their eyes and share their perspective. You do not necessarily agree with each person’s perspective. You do not necessarily feel pity for each person’s predicament—this would be sympathy, not Empathy. You do not necessarily condone the choices each person makes, but you do understand. This instinctive ability to understand is powerful. You hear the unvoiced questions. You anticipate the need. Where others grapple for words, you seem to find the right words and the right tone. You help people find the right phrases to express their feelings—to themselves as well as to others. You help them give voice to their emotional life. For all these reasons other people are drawn to you.


Adaptability

You live in the moment. You don’t see the future as a fixed destination. Instead, you see it as a place that you create out of the choices that you make right now. And so you discover your future one choice at a time. This doesn’t mean that you don’t have plans. You probably do. But this theme of Adaptability does enable you to respond willingly to the demands of the moment even if they pull you away from your plans. Unlike some, you don’t resent sudden requests or unforeseen detours. You expect them. They are inevitable. Indeed, on some level you actually look forward to them. You are, at heart, a very flexible person who can stay productive when the demands of work are pulling you in many different directions at once.

I find these things to be somewhat accurate. Next up: actual thoughts on my brand of crazy.

In Which I Have Exceeding Skill At A Game I Don't want To Play

I told Matt about the dream, save one detail. There was some metaphorical hand holding, some text message "there there"s, some mental hair stroking. Its all better now.

I got drunk last night in the hopes I could get drunk and write a masterpiece. The only thing I achieved was a mild hangover and an upset stomach. And a craving for something greasy and fattening with mayo on it.

Month one on the pill wasn't so bad. My tits grew to be the size of dwarf planets and peace of mind is something that is worth the non insurance price. My smoking has gone down considerably, and I don't feel guilty for the first time in months.

And I want a fried chicken sandwich with pickles and mayo. I also want subway but I need to curb my enthusiastic spending if I want to go to Chicago.

I'm excited about this trip because I'll get an extra day with my love and hopefully I can throw together an impromptu pseudo reunion with my AI boys. I'd love to see Mike again, and from the way things sounded on Facebook, maybe Tom too. And whoever else they can rustle up. And of course Devon, I haven't seen him in a really long time. Not quite as long of a time as Mike and Tom, but at least three or four months. I miss those kids.

Maybe I can get some writing done today?

In Which Somtimes My Insecurity Gets The Best of Me

And by sometimes, I mean a lot, or at least lately.

Can you smell what the crazy is cooking?

I have five days to turn out 1,200 words of not suck. I haven't counted the words on my handwritten page and a half in which I Kevin Smith all over the place. (Which is to say I talk a lot without very much in the way of action or conflict happening.)And this is just deadline one.

And Kate Nash refuses to help. Cheeky bird.

Last night I had this dream where Matt left me for one of his really good friends (a girl, of course its a girl, girls always make me nervous. And of course its a specific gorgeous friend that I have met before and am probably friends with on facebook). I can't think about it without wanting to cry. This was at 3 a.m. and maybe Matchbox Twenty was right when they assumed "I must be lonely". I texted Matt as soon as I woke up from the dream. This was at three (2:51, if we want to get all kinds of technical). All I said was "You'd tell me if something was wrong with us, right?" I proceeded to stay awake for another half hour or so before pretending to sleep again. He never responded. I know its probably nothing, he had said earlier that he only got thirty minutes of sleep the night before, but the fact that he still hasn't responded makes me nervous. "Bruised" by Jack's Mannequin is on my shuffle now and I am trying not to cry in front of this Vietnamese man who is working on his homework.

But my suspicions have been creeping around the room, under the wallpaper for months now, and its only in the last few weeks that we got an upgrade to full blown crazy girlfriend status. Part of me doesn't want to ignore my instincts, but part of me thinks that its just the birth control talking.

Dear Dashboard Confessional, cut that shit out please.

Dear B-52's, keep that shit going please.

please don't tell anyone that I'm crazy.

In which sometimes I am a horrible person

I've been meaning to write. Letters. Stories. Lovelorn odes to the world beyond my routine.

There has been a fire lit under my ass and now I am hustling to come up with stories, resumes, letters, budgets, pitches, and proposals. Ever looming deadlines make me nervous and my mood swings are worse than a swingset at recess. I blame the drugs.

One application asks for my "favorite personal story". I have so many and so few all at once. I can string fragments into bigger stories (very much like my love life), but there is no one defining story per se. Perhaps mashups have been my downfall. The truth seems to have escaped me for the umpteenth time. I am just stuck when it comes to sticking to just one thing (if one thing really means one...).

Another Application asks for 1200 words maximum of something untrue.

And yet another asks for up to 40 pages of something equally untrue.

There are so many missions. I will not abort any of them.

My mom told me that Matt "better put a ring on it". Oh dear lord.

Forgive me Moses, Jesus, Allah.

Payday. (yay!)
Forgot purse at home (boo!)
I don't have to go home (yay/boo!)

And sometimes the tears just have to come.

Things don't even phase me.

Its snowing.

Valentine's day was fantastic even though my love-induced euphoria is proving to be short-lived.

I have learned that patience is not my strongest virtue. I can only say so many times that the paper in your hand has nothing to do with what homework you're doing and that if you just follow the fucking directions, you will be fucking fine. FUCKING FINE.

But let's focus on the euphoria, shall we?

Friday night I went down to Chicago because its valentine's weekend and that's what young lovers do. Pizza was ordered, gifts were exchanged. Matt got a set of swirly sippy cups. I got two DVDs: Ben Folds: Live at WASO and Golden Girls season one. Plus two packs of the legal clove cigarettes. I have the best boyfriend ever. Well, not ever, but top 10, easily. And then video games (Infamous, I think its called) and Jeopardy! and bed.

Saturday,we lounged in bed (like young lovers do), and then we went out to pick up our tickets for that night. We picked up the tickets, and then walked until we found this neat little cafe called Julius Meinl, where we stopped for lunch. The prices weren't terrible (but slightly pricey for my cheap ass), and the food was pretty tasty. I had this orange ginger infusion tea thing that was heavenly. And the drinks come with these little chocolates. Fabulous. After lunch we kept walking until we happened upon this candy shop. I forget the name of it, Candiality or something that reminds you of the word bestiality. We go in and get these decadent-looking chocolate truffles. So as we're continuing our walk and eating our truffles, we pass a liquor store. Like one of those classy ones that would never ever sell Boone's Farm. The liquor store was having a free wine tasting. So we walked in tasted some wine, looked around and left. And then we smoked one of my cloves. For something completely unplanned, it was pretty romantic. After walking around a bit more, we went and got dressed for the burlesque show. Yes, burlesque. It was so fabulous. I loved it. So tastefully bawdy. And it re-enforced a positive body image. Somebody five me.

So improv classes + burlesque classes + strip classes = me(perfect)

By hook or by crook, I am moving.

Sunday, we tried to watch Shortbus and Paper Heart back to back. One was more fail than the other. Shortbus was a porn in independent film clothes and Paper Heart was just weird and awkward in all the worst ways. I was not a fan of it and kept falling asleep. Went to catch my bus and every time I say goodbye, I can't help but hear the cinematic violins swell.

The bus home was entirely too long.

Today is fat tuesday and I have no idea what to give up for lent.

I'm on the pill and my knockers are giant.

Secretly listening to Radiohead. Shhhhh.

in the days of kings and queens I was a jester...

I am sitting at work, attempting an internship application and lusting after cigarettes. Two regulars are working, and one of my coworkers is helping one of them. The guy my coworker is helping always has 523,763,936,034 questions for her, basically because he is in love with her, and has been since last semester. The other regular has a constant blurting problem.

Blurting Lady (BL): do you have a girlfriend?
Guy: ....what?
BL: Do you have a girlfriend?
Guy: Are you applying for the position?
BL: no, but just ask her out already, I can't concentrate with you over there!

I thought I was going to defecate my pants. I silently laughed for a solid couple minutes.

And now BL is trying to talk him up to my coworker. LMAO. Life is wonderful.

I was working on my internship application to This American Life. I am so excited and so scared. I know I can do this though. If I got this, this would be six shades of epic and perfect and omg yes please.

Austin can wait. Athens will wait.

I think its time to cut these ever-tightening plastic bracelets.

Don't tell anyone that I have been creeping Offbeat Bride.

I think my toes are slightly fused/webbed. I noticed yesterday. Is it piercing time?

The letters will come. The future will come.

While we're at it, we can work it night by night. (but only by the night)

So the year is new and my wanderlust is raging.

Here is a list of places I think would be epic to live in:

- Athens, GA (college town. University of Georgia. Bulldogs. Home of REM and the B-52's. I'm pretty fucking jazzed about it.)
- Austin, TX (another college town. University of Texas. Longhorns. Home of SXSW. Still fucking jazzed about it.)
- Chicago, IL (My heart. My Love. Columbia. Northwestern. Home of my love, romantic and otherwise. Slightly less jazzed than before but still pretty jazzed.)
- Minneapolis, MN (Chuck Klosterman mentioned it. University of Minnesota. The school has nothing I want, except a professional certificate in Experimental Surgery. Home of The Replacements and Atmosphere.)
- Toronto, ON (University of Toronto. The Blue and White. Home of charming accents. Four hours from home.)
- St. Louis, MO (University of Missouri St. Louis. Who the fuck knows. Home of the most visually interesting people I've ever seen.)

And there's more but I grow weary. This list was to keep me at least somewhat on track.

there's always Bowling Green...

... but the average low in Athens is 33 degrees. That is as close as Georgia gets to freezing. Hot damn.

that's been my day.

national guard is running around, looking for the monkey but she can't be found...

Why are bad ideas the only ones that feel good?

As part of my new year's makeover, I have opted to rock peace of mind. I am going to see the doctor on Monday and I will not punk out, I will ask the doctor for the pill. The only awkward part is:

1. I may or may not be starting my period that day
2. instead of my regular doctor, I have to see Dr. L, because my regular doctor, Dr. R is all booked through the end of the year (because surprise! I am still insured for another week and a half).
3. Dr. L is a dude. Yeah, I'm one of those girls that has issues with that. Especially because I may or may not have a mess going on.

Okay so I lied. Those are the only awkward parts.

I'm hoping to bypass all that mess anxiety because I just had a hoo ha exam (yes that is the clinical term) in August. But I guess I will have to woman up either way. I have to stop playing Russian roulette.

Either way, things will be interesting.

I am pitching my life as a HBO sitcom. Well okay, maybe not HBO, maybe Showtime.

I am sleepy and starving and I am thirty minutes away from not seeing anyone in this room for three weeks, save my own gorgeous mug. Somebody give me a big YES!

Bad sitcom, party of one.

In a somewhat bizarre turn of events that I can only attribute to my incompetence, I have gotten myself in a not delicious pickle. Nothing life altering, but the fodder for many a sitcom episode.

I decided that I had taken enough of not being near my boyfriend, so I told him I was coming to visit this weekend. That is all well and good. Unfortunately, I also told my clique of lady friends that we should have some shiggles while we all have some time off. Trying to coordinate five separate schedules is daunting. I originally said that anything pretty much worked. People took dates and times off the table. One suggestion that seemed to work the best for 4/5 of the involved parties did not work for me. December 20 doesn't work for me because I do (on the 21st). While discussing this with Jill, I accidentally went into problem solver mode, forgot my aching heart/loins, (which I am totally ruing at the moment) and suggested a "prefect" solution. FUUUUCK. I would cancel on Matt, but 1. I haven't seen him in a month, and 2. If I cancel, that means no proper "alone time" until NYE. THAT'S SIX WEEKS. MY POOR PUNANNI (that may or may not be expelling uterine lining at that point). Is it bad if I don't care about seeing them that much at this point? Does that make me a horrible person? I tried to see if there was a bus that left early/late enough for me to do both, but to no avail. The buses out of Chicago on Sunday are at 7, 9:15, and 4:30. Fuck 7. 9:15 is not much better but that's the only one that will get me back at a reasonable hour so we can go to Jackson or Redford or wherever the fuck we are deciding to go. Well if I left on the 9:15, and got back at 1:25, that would work, I guess even if our usual lazy Sunday got cut very very very short. maybe that is what I 'll do. FML.

I think I really screwed the pooch. Maybe. Screw fixing problems.

I started reading CD Payne's Youth In Revolt. Its not so bad so far, but I keep trying not to picture Michael Cera reading the book to me. I keep failing miserably.

Hangovers and by proxy, hang ups.

Oh the longest beach in the world was last night.

I didn't even know i had three long beaches. This led to me loudly lamenting what a bonkers-ass thanksgiving I had and the delivery of strange looks from strangers.

Last call was at 12:30.

I am now buzzing on legal speed. I am not sick anymore and now this is purely for dietary consumption. It feels great, and has mostly eliminated my headache. Or maybe that's the water. My eye has attempted to escape my head and i feel like I can literally shoot lasers out of it.

One cig + one pill = good to go.

People are coughing near me though and my inner germaphobe wants to just run all about the lab with the recently acquired sanitizing products. I am doing my very best not to gag openly.

I am cutting all my hair off. I am through looking ordinary. Today is a day for dying. Not death, but dye.

But of course this is the one day this week, everybody wants a piece of me.

I am through with Kalamazoo. I am through with not knowing what I want.

I know I want school, but the finances are astronomical and my grades are pathetic, and I don't know who would say that I am skilled beyond who I am, who I was, on paper.

Right now nothing sounds more appealing than some okay 9-5 job and classes at The Second City. Right now I think I could be a stand up comic. My life is just one really bad joke that only God and I seem to find funny.

Let's go.

Cover shifts blow.

I am pro more money. Always. Well, 98.347% of the time.

But that being said, I have to shut my piehole.... nobody has been in here all day, and for that I am glad. If I had to cover somebody, I am glad it is today.

My anti-snot meds are wearing off, and I need to take more if I hope to make it out of this shift alive.

So for our anniversary, Matt got me this USB that looks like a mixtape, fully loaded with tasty jams. Being the god awful girlfriend that I am, I just got to listen to it today. What a heartbreaking work of staggering genius.

I highly recommend:

"Can't Hardly Wait" - Justin Townes Earle

"write you a letter tomorrow
Tonight I can't hold a pen
Someone's got a stamp that I can borrow
I promise not to blow the address again..."

"Today" - Jennifer O'Connor

"An ocean of longing
I spit out the song and
I laugh with the tide that rolls in goes out
A bookshelf casts shadows
They dance out my window
The kids in the neighborhood scream and shout

Today, today
Today I stop guessing and give you my heart
Today, today
Today is a blessing
You're far and I'm missing you
I can't wait to be with you if only to say
Stay, stay

A puzzle of pieces
Mixed and unequal
I try to make sense of the shapes as they shift
I'm keeping a record
Desires that I can't afford
I hope to recieve each one as a gift

Today, today
Today I stop guessing and give you my heart
Today, today
Today is a blessing
You're far and I'm missing you
I can't wait to be with you if only to say
Stay, stay

Put your hand in mine
Just like you do all the time
In a room with the door closed
In a room when we're all alone

If there's a method to madness
And secrets bring sadness
I'll draw up a map we can leave today
Forget all the messes
We'll change our addresses
If there's one thing I know, it's how
To run away

Today
Today I stop guessing and give you my heart
Today, today
Today is a blessing
You're far and I'm missing you
I can't wait to be with you if only to say
Stay, stay
Stay, stay
Stay, stay
Stay, stay "

"Everybody Here Wants You" - Jeff Buckley

"I know everybody here wants you
I know everybody here thinks he needs you
I'll be waiting right here just to show you
How our love will blow it all away

Hmm, such a thing of wonder in this crowd
I'm a stranger in this town
You're free with me
And our eyes locked in downcast love
I sit here proud
Even now you're undressed in your dreams with me

Oh, I'm only here for this moment..."

"This Must Be the Place" - Miles Fisher

"Home - is where I want to be
But I guess I'm already there
I come home - she lifted up her wings
Guess that this must be the place
I can't tell one from another
Did I find you, or you find me?
There was a time Before we were born

If someone asks, this is where I'll be . . . where I'll be..."

Shut it, I know you think i almost cried at work.

You were right.

my ass hurts. can I go now?

Reasons For Living

Updates from the Western Front.

Part one: In which I will try and be less an an angry, vulgar twat.

The eagle has landed. Which is to say, they found my car. The details are fuzzy as to where she was or what condition she's in, but the police recovered it and now I'm just waiting on the insurance company to bring it back. I'm trying really hard to be grateful, but depending on what other retarded shenanigans may or may not be involved, I may have to unleash a shitstorm of fury anyway. But the more I suffer the more God will return it to me, right?

part two: in which I will become less lazy

I like Fridays when I'm not needed.

part three: in which your humble narrator settles down.

I've had a boyfriend for a fucking YEAR.

part four: miscellaneous

I spelled miscellaneous right on the first try. But not the second.

bumming rides is for poor people. oh, wait....

waiting on the man. (friday dispatch)

wtf mates?

Ok, so I am out one car. Stolen. It's a dumb story, one that I'm not getting into.

File under: working with people is dumb.

Okay so there are two new girls at work. I am sure you have heard this story. New girl one went on the highly unnecessary organizing tangent. New girl two seems to generally be okay. Or so it would seem. New girl two works two jobs (maybe three). She works here with me and then she also subs and possibly tutors on he side. She signed up to do a presentation here, but then she also signed up to sub that day. She asked if I would cover her on the presentation. I told her no. Mostly because BOTH THOSE THINGS ARE OPTIONAL. I understand that in a multiple job situation, the highest paying job takes priority, but nobody said sign up for either of those things. My sympathy is sorely lacking.

Now I'm on a mission to find a comparable car for the insurance company. You try finding a 94 Saturn twin cam with ~85,000 miles on it. If you are successful, I'll make you a cookie and possibly buy you an hour with a hooker.

But on the upside, there are a lot of affordable to semi affordable Saturns out there.

and that's the news from the Kalamazoo River, where the women are strong, the men are heavily bearded, and the kids are slightly scarier than average.

I no longer pity the foo.

GAH. Look at me be mentally unstable.

I had to yell (yell = be visibly pissed and not be nice and smiley) at a student already. I've only been here an hour. Student comes in with a typed paper, fine. But then he's like "yeah I have no periods or commas." A single spaced page with two paragraphs AND NO PUNCTUATION. And he was not going to pull off the ee cummings type of pretension. Did I mention he comes in and he's like "I have 20 minutes before I need to get to class"? Did I also mention that I am on my period and my pretty new microdermal itches? Did I fail to mention that he asked if he could leave his paper here and could I double space it? Guess who has two thumbs and was absolutely NOT having it? Your humble narrator.

I told him he absolutely could not.

And on top of that, his paper was supposed to be "Love is Destiny"; instead he was operating on "Love is DENSITY". Calling destiny density throughout the paper is one thing, but he opens with definitions. AND HE DEFINED DENSITY. Like, did he think more than two seconds after he cut-pasted the definition? Did he notice that "the quality or state of being dense" sounds absolutely NOTHING like "something to which a person or thing is destined" or "a predetermined course of events often held to be an irresistible power or agency"?

You bet your sweet ass he didn't.

I'm already having a god-awful hair day, its dark and raining, and I am restbroken like you wouldn't believe.

Oh, and I can't find any of my beloved red pens? There was a better part of a box here a week ago. Blame that on the heifer that elected to unnecessarily reorganize everything. Also, the other new girl that was here, lent me three CDs. I brought them on last friday so I could give them to her during the following week, but she was either not here, or I forgot to tell her they were here. I go to check on them this morning, and I notice they're gone. Either stupid new girl moved them (which was/is un to the necessary) or other new girl was at the desk and picked them up. botch scenarios are equally plausible.

I might go smoke the 1/3 pack that's left from this week's pack.

Let's hope Pandora is less of a slut today. I've played my only CD twice already.

Things that may or may not hurt.

Get me out of here. Home is out of the question.

I started looking for jobs in Chicago again. I need to make some phone calls to Americorps. I have a few questions about their positions. I'm starting to get over KVCC. It might have something to do with new girls. I feel like I would prefer Stephanie at her most insufferable. Well, on some days at the very least. Today is definitely one of them. I can't tell if it would make me feel better or worse to construct a list of grievances.

I constantly miss Matt. No doubt. But I wonder how our relationship would change once I moved back out to Chicago. Knowing that my annoying habits will rapidly can and will lose their charm. But on the other hand, I would become significantly less fat. And everyone knows weight is inversely proportionate to how much bullshit people take from you. Actually, that's not true. That's more of a bell curve. Well, more of a wave. At a certain point, you get so fat that people are scared of how fat you are and that you might sit on them, so they will put up with whatever bullshit you deem appropriate.

I digress.

Back to the original subject. Moral of the story, we'll see.

I'll be coming into a little money at the end of the week,and the local parlors are starting to do microdermal anchors. New Addiction does them for 60. I feel that's reasonable. I think they would look great with my stars, but as knee-high sock season rears its frosty head, I can only see this ending poorly. Other considered locations: collarbone(s), nape of my neck(which would look brilliant with that Chicago flag tattoo I've been lusting after), right above my ample cleavage, or maybe even my wrist. I also am years overdue for a touchup on my stars, and everyone seems to recommend I should go easy on the body bling for now. Translation? New ink! The only problem with that is, I want something that is not going to look retarded with my constantly yo-yo-ing weight, but also is easily hidden should I go on a job interview and will not look like a poor life decision should I decide to go for the big white wedding.

The South side of Chicago is not as bad as everyone says.

As I ignore Boz Scaggs and George Michael duking it out in myhead. Must be Tuesday.

I have more or less killed a pack in a glorified weekend.

Pack purchased: last friday.

Pack finished: sometime before this friday

My fingers are stained pink from my latest hair experiment. We'll see how dry and angry it gets before I have to cut it all off anyway.

I am dressed like a crazy homeless lady today. I can't say that I really care.

Reading through some of my old writing, I realize that i am not as bad as I think i am. One professor dared to even call me "impressive".

So I think I need to write again. Except I have noting to write about.

I need to get out there and live.

I need to get out there and fail. Just face my fear and fucking fail all on my own. Even though I resent challenges in the moment, I am always grateful for them later. Chicago or bust?

I may or may not come out of October with yet another body modification. I'm sensing a trend.

December 2006: 1st (and as of now, only)tattoo
August 2007: Industrial piercing
October 2008: Traigus piercing

I'm running out of time on 2009.

Maybe I'll come out of the relationship closet at Thanksgiving. I don't know why that time seems so appealing for people to do so. It seems appealing for me because that will be just around the one year mark for me and Matt.

My mother deserves to know why I'm taking off to hang out with a boy on the most holy of food days. I don't even know what's happening as far as Thanksgiving goes this year.

I guess we'll see.

Story of my fucking life.

(514): in hindsight, drinking 2 bottles of wine probably wasnt going to put me in an optimal position for a job interview

I have one thing to say: you better WORK.

Ok that's a lie. I have more things to say than that.

Work is busy (thanks Obama!), and I can't wait until 3 pm friday. But for once the week is flying by, and very soon I will get to be with Matt. We can have alone time without secretly flipping the fuck out. That, and I haven't gotten any in a really long time. like at least a month.

The lab has become a landscape of mumblers. Mostly this woman I want to choke all the time. She is just so abrasive and makes me want to stress eat. She says she needs help, but really, she just lies someone there watching her. I knew I should have dumped her on the math lab, but noooooooooo, I felt like there was some sort of karmic debt to pay. That's my penance for the day, right?

Its cold. I should find socks.

tales of disaster and nicotine notes

I promised the story of what the fuck went on this weekend. If the Kenny thing was the icing on the weird week cake, this saturday was the topper.

Saturday morning starts out innocuous enough: wake up, pack, load, coffee, drive. Drive, drive, drive to Matt's parents' house. Upon my departure from the house I realize: I LEFT MY FUCKING DRESS IN KALAMAFUCKINGZOO. All other options are in Kalamazoo as well. shoes are in the car, tights are in my bag, dress is trapped in the motherfucking closet ( closet....)So I go get my hair done and then, with about 5 hours to go until the wedding, commence the arduous task of dress shopping. Target had one possibility but it wasn't, you know, IT. TJ Maxx, nada. Dress Barn, nada and a half. Touch base with Matt, who still needs to pick up a present, so I head back over to his parents house because he'll probably have to go to the mall too. The couple was registered at three places: Crate and Barrel, Pottery Barn, and Williams and Sonoma. Closest C&B is at fucking Somerset, which is pretty much the antithesis of where we need to be. We know for sure that PB and W&S are at Briarwood (the humungo Ann Arbor mall) so its decided that out best bet is to head there. While Matt gets the present, I proceed to hit approximately 347,956 stores in hopes of finding an outfit. No such luck. After much deliberation, I end up dropping 50 dollars on a top and skirt from The Limited. Less than an hour to go, we get our shit and leave. Upon exiting the parking lot, we notice that the world beyond the mall is a traffic jammy place. ITS FUCKING GAME DAY, and our route takes us right past ground zero, so there are cars everywhere. After much swearing, smoking, and a few wrong turns, we enter the wedding hall, sweaty, swearing, and speeding. I'm over the fact that I'm barefoot in a semi public restroom, and I am over handicap stall guilt. I needed the space. We make it with just minutes to spare.

Anyone who knows me knows what kind of stress I am capable of putting myself under in these situations.

But then we danced, we drank, we laughed, something wonderful happened, and then we left.

get your mind out of the gutter, I was still getting rid of 28 days worth of unused baby.

but let's just say I'm still the marrying kind.

thirty minutes away from drugs and real food.

1. On behalf of hearing some good news from a dear friend, SQUEE.

2. I just creeped Chuck Klosterman on facebook (because we're friends), and saw pictures from his wedding. I was full of mixed emotions that come out like a waldorf salad. Its mostly happy with a bit of cool, with just a touch of envy, for flavor. The bride's dress was cool, non traditional, very thirties, and it was white. I'm stopping here because I am creeping myself out, talking to the internet about the wedding of someone I've never met (only admired from a very long interwebbed distance). Weddings are the grandest. Even if 2009 was/is the year of the wedding.

I'll tell the story of the last wedding I went to next time.